


Mercy Cull

by Spacefille



Series: Mercy Cull and Erisol Shorts [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind!Eridan, Body Horror, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Not a Deathfic, Red Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacefille/pseuds/Spacefille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post game, post Erisolsprite. WARNING for Body horror! </p><p> </p><p>Karkat, Terezi and Sollux find the mutilated body of one certain seatroll washed up on the beach. The merciful thing to do would be to cull him, but Sollux is unable to part so easily with half of his former self. Instead he decides to take him home and try to nurse him back to health, but is Eridan too damaged to save?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sollux point of view.

She completes her interrogation, something you and Karkat watched with varying degrees of horror. He was just unfortunate, you find out, some troll lost his lusus to the seatroll way back and enlisted help to gang up on him. They got him with his guard down and when they were done torturing him dumped his body out here. They had obviously hoped some lusus or wild beast would come and feast on his body while he was still alive and bound.

Terezi unties his arms as she speaks, which just makes the pathetically sad little whimpering sounds from him increase. The stumps where his hands used to be look painful, the flesh torn, gore and whitened skin all that remains. Those need to be bandaged, the skin sewn over the empty flesh, god, it’s going to take so much work to put him back together again…

Even as that crosses your mind you know it’s probably wishful thinking. You study the remains of the washed up, naked seatroll as Terezi goes on to untie his legs. He’s blind, empty sockets show where his eyes used to be, and he’s struggling to breathe properly. You can see that all of his front teeth have been knocked out when he winces and opens his mouth to gasp. Long deep cuts cover his body, one foot is swollen thickly around the ankle and is probably broken. His gills along his ribs are in tatters, the fins along his flanks are torn. You wonder if he can even breathe in the high tide, but he must be able to because it looks like he’s been here at least a day. Then again, with the way he’s breathing, like every breath will be his last, you’re not sure if he did manage all that well.

Your first reaction when you saw him was that he was dead. Then, when he moved, you kind of wished he was.

Sure enough you see the answer on her face as she steps back to you and Karkat. “He needs to be culled,” there is infinite sadness in her voice.

He can still hear and you watch as he flinches at the word cull. She must sense your discomfort, or maybe his, because she drops her voice to a whisper as she draws you both further away. “Some of the wounds are infected, I can smell them. His lungs are flooded. He’s going to die a painful death if we don’t. And even if he did survive…” she lets that trail off.

You can’t help but slump a little bit at her words. To have Terezi say so just makes it all the more depressingly real.

Karkat lets out a high pitched little whine that you know he’s been hiding since his first “What the fuck, WHAT THE _FUCK!_ ” freak out when you first arrived. That whine grows as Terezi grabs both of you by the arms and drags you back to the body.

You all just stare.

Finally Terezi pokes and prods at Karkat enough to get a reaction out of him. “I can’t – I,” the smaller troll begins, and his eyes are wide.

“You’re the one with the sickle,” she hisses at him. She’s long since dropped taking the walking stick along with her, her flarping days are over and it’s been a while since the game ended. Only Karkat still keeps himself armed and you don’t really blame him, with his mutant blood you’re actually kind of glad he has a defense with him outside of his own strength.

Karkat flinches visibly before slowly dragging it out. You feel sorry for him, Karkat sucks at this shit. He’s not a coward, however, and you watch as he steps forward. He swallows, then crouches down, leaning in close. He lays a hand against the side of his face, stroking it gently as he speaks and he’s being quiet for once. You can barely hear him as he whispers to the other troll, asking him what he wants. 

The mangled body responds with a jerk. “W-why the fuck – are – are you askin’? Do it already,” his voice is nothing but a tired pained rasp and you can see splash of purple leaking from the empty eye sockets. “S-stop… stop touchin’ me,” he adds, and his breathing has now turned into wet shuddering gasps. He clenches what remains of his teeth and the short sharp little whimpers return in full force. He’s struggling slightly, trying to pull away from Karkat, but he can’t quite manage to move.

Karkat lifts his hand from his face and stands. For a long moment he just stands there. His sickle dangles from his fingers as he bows his head and studies the mutilated body for a long moment. Finally his grip tightens and he tenses, raising his arm.

Eridan doesn’t even flinch. Then again he can’t see, but he can hear the surprised yelp from Karkat as you catch the sickle with your power about an inch above the seatroll’s neck.  The abrupt stop in momentum nearly knocks Karkat over. He turns to stares at you as you pluck the sickle from his fingers and float it away, setting it down on the beach a little ways off. He stares after it, and then turns on you, eyes wide, teeth clenched and hands balled into fists. “What the hell?!” he begins.

“I’ll take him,” you say calmly.

Now both of your companions are staring at you, or Terezi would be if she had sight. Karkat’s brow is furrowed and his mouth points downwards into a frown. “No, seriously, what the actual fuck,” he says, and he turns full rant mode on. “What are you going to do, take him home with you and hope he doesn’t die on your couch? Yeah that sounds like a fan-fucking-tastic idea, what are you even thinking? You two don’t even like each other!”

You shrug as you come up to stand beside him. Ugh, he looks even worse from this close.

“Sollux he’s fucking blind! They’ve… oh god, they’ve chopped off his hands, it’s a fucking mercy cull, you can’t, you _can’t_ …” he’s crying now and you reach out, running a hand along the side of Karkat’s face. He comes to you and clings and starts crying into your shirt. You put up with that for all of two seconds before bodily hauling him off of yourself and handing him to Terezi. She can deal with his emotional bullshit.

Now it’s your turn to crouch down beside him. You place a hand on his cheek in the same place Karkat did, and just hold it there. He feels disgusting, cold and clammy and gross, but you don’t move your hand.

He stills. Now he is lying absolutely fucking motionless, even his labored breathing slows and clears up a bit. He draws in a breath and then another. “Sol,” he says finally and then is unexpectedly wracked with a coughing fit, which makes him spit up purple tinted water.

You wait until his coughing is done. When he is still again and continues to just breathe you smile gently, a very rare thing for you. Thankfully he can’t see it. “I’m sorry,” you reply. _I don’t want to put you out of your misery because I’m a horrible person who likes to see other people suffer. God, I suck, what kind of life are you even going to have if I manage to save you?_

His brow furrows just a bit, but then he nods once, sharply. It’s an understanding at least, but you know he’s probably going to hate you for this when he’s not in so much pain. … if he lives through the next couple days. 

You look down the length of his body, survey the damage from up close. With your powers you VERY GENTLY pick up his body from the sand and turn it over slowly in midair. Karkat stops his embarrassing carrying on long enough to watch.

The damage is the same as you saw from afar. He seems to breathe easier once suspended and you’re guessing some of those ribs are cracked or broken. Nothing looks caved in, from a purely analytical point of view, outside of the damage to his eyes and hands, the rest looks fixable in the long term. If those swollen purple welts up and down his body are properly cleaned of course and yeah now you can smell what Terezi could. “He needs clean water and a scrub down,” you comment. “The sea isn’t going to do anything to help, it needs to be fresh,” you turn to the other two. “Do you think Kanaya would be able to help sew him back together?” you ask.

Karkat sighs and gives you this very tired look before shaking his head. “She spent a year wanting to chainsaw Gamzee and he didn’t put a hole through her torso,” he points out. He is silent for a moment. “Gamzee might actually be able to help,” he says finally, very reluctantly. “He got really good at taking bodies apart and putting them back together again on the meteor,” he makes a face at that and you roll your eyes. He was responsible for your and Eridan’s unfortunate forced shared body as well. You’re not sure you want to put any sort of trust in him, but right now you’re low on options and you have no idea how to mend a broken body. You suppose you could just look it up online, but if you know anyone who has actual experience…  

The two of them exchange glances and Terezi cocks one eyebrow. She nods slowly. “Okay, yeah,” she replies.

You heave a sigh of relief. If his former(?) kismesis agrees you’re probably safe. With your powers you can get yourself and Eridan there fairly quickly… it’ll be a long walk for the other two. Luckily you have a few hours to go before dawn. You twitch, doing mental calculations. Yeah, you’ll make it if you all crash at Gamzee’s during the day, and hopefully the clown doesn’t decide to do anything creepy. He’s been fairly chill since you were all brought back, so…

You shift where you stand, glancing at Eridan’s body and back then at your friends.

Karkat seems to read your mind. “Go on, go, what the hell are you waiting for? We’ll catch up.”

That’s all the motivation you need. You press a hand to Eridan’s cheek again, just once as reassurance, and with that you’re off, precious cargo floating effortlessly through the air behind you. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t even know anymore guys. 
> 
> Warning for torture, body horror. 
> 
> Eridan point of view.

You know you’re going to die.

You had a little hope at first, when you first came too and felt indignation that you were caught unawares so easily, hit from behind by something large while out exploring. You’re more pissed than anything. You’re also stark naked and tied, around the ankles and wrists and elbows, in an undignified sprawl in a corner of someone’s hive.

You think, very briefly, that they better not have torn your clothes. You push that thought away. You have more important things to worry about than the state of your clothes. Like if you’re going to live to see tomorrow.

They’re also idiots for tying your arms in front of you. You start picking at the rope, but don’t get very far before they come into the room.

There are three of them and you don’t know any of them. One is a blue blood who looks around your age, and the others are a couple of slightly younger looking low greens.

The blue is in charge. He’s pissed, gives you a long rant about how he lost his lusus - and friends - to you during your campaigning, which was fucking sweeps ago, and now it’s his turn to exact his revenge. You sneer at him. It’s the way things are, you tell him, you’re trolls and they lost fair and square. Compared to the fact that he got you with your back turned and guard down. How is that even comparable? And it’s not like you have a lusus any longer either, you’re old enough now that he’s gone on to find a new wiggler to raise. So, basically, you’re in the same damn lusus-less boat.

Your reasoning does exactly nothing to impress him. You learn how much it doesn’t impress him when he crouches down next to you and pulls out a knife.

You fight.

You’re not stupid and you know your odds, but you’re determined to at least _try_ to get out of this alive. You kick out, getting one of the greens in the leg. You sink your teeth into the blue’s thigh. He lets out a yodel of pain and drops the knife as the last one jumps you. You grab the knife in the scramble and stab that one in the arm, before bringing the knife down and slicing open the bindings around your legs in one go. Now you can really kick. You keep the knife in your still bound hands and swing it back up, slashing the first one across the face before you’re able to get up and bolt.

Outside the hive is surrounded by forest and thankfully its dim season so you don’t have to worry so much about exposure. You hit the ground in a run. You can smell the sea from here, but oh fuck it’s far enough away that you’re not sure you’re going to be able to make it. Also being near the sea means there isn’t going to be anyone else around to rescue you. You know seatrolls, you keep a large distance from each other as you’re all a pretty violent lot and right now that is _not_ going to work in your favor. You need to be near a low blood city, and god _damn it_ you can hear them coming after you.

You grit your teeth and keep running.

You can’t even free your hands because you’re too busy running and trying to saw with a knife while running and tied at the wrist isn’t going to work at all. You need to stop and wedge the knife somewhere in order to be able to cut the rope and you contemplate losing your distance advantage just for a chance to have your hands free…

You don’t even get an opportunity to do that. You see a blur of white coming at you out of the corner of your eye. You try to swerve to avoid but as you twist your foot gets caught in something – a root probably – and you go down. Without your hands to catch yourself you hit, hard. Blinding pain wells up from your ankle. You put up another fight, this time against a giant cat lusus but it’s a losing battle and it hits you with a gigantic paw, sending you sprawling and dazing you at the same time.

You know you’re done before they even get to you.

.

When you return to consciousness the blue monologues at you. You’re a sea dweller, he’s a land dweller and he has found out you used to hatch plots to try to kill all trolls that didn’t live in the sea. That was sweeps ago, but no matter. You spit purple blood on him from where they knocked your teeth out and tell him he’s a disgrace and should respect the fucking hemospectrum. Wrong thing to say but you’re in too pissed off and in too much pain to really care. 

He tells you that if you can’t see, you won’t be able to tell who is superior or not. That is about the point where you realize with absolutely 100% certainty that not only are you not getting out of this alive, you’re also not getting out of this in one piece. A countdown starts in your head. How long until you die? You’re giving yourself a day. Maybe two. You morbidly wonder what you’ll have to live through first before you finally get to expire.

You don’t have to wait long to find out. 

One of them pins you down and wretches your head up and another holds your eyelid open on either side. Blue smirks and pulls out that knife again.

You start screaming as he brings it down into your eye and you don’t stop.  

.

He’s full a fucking words.

Blah, blah, blah he goes on and on and on, but the only thing that filters past the pounding agony in your head and down your body is the fact that he’s not done yet. You’re torn in too many places to count and it’s getting hard to concentrate. On anything. You try to push the agony away and ignore him by focusing on other things. Like who you’re going to miss - not that it’ll matter once you’re gone - and who is going to miss you.

No one will probably miss you, you realize, and isn’t that a depressing thought. It’s true, you’ve pretty much been alone since you got brought back. Kar still talks to you, when he’s not busy. His tolerance for bullshit is low, but he puts up with you, checks in if he hasn’t heard from you in a while. You’d feel special, but you’re fairly sure he does with each and every one of you who played the game.

He’s also the only one who has visited you in a sweep, dropping by once with Terezi, who spent the entire time sniffing up your hive. She could care less about you, and her and you exchanged exactly three words the entire visit.

Fef you talk to from time to time as well, when she’s not too busy trying to be a proper ruler. She is… civil. You killed her, she hasn’t quite forgotten, but after that you kind of had a shared experience of being sprites, so you can at least talk about that.

Thinking about being a sprite brings your thoughts to another troll, and you feel an unexpected pang of loss.

Sol. You hated him and yourself when stuck in the same body together, but afterwards… you’d like to think you have something of an understanding. Granted you’ve hung out all of twice since getting put back to normal, but despite the sniping remarks and general animosity there is a level of comfort there. You know him - and his body - like the back of your hand due to getting your thoughts and memories squashed together into the same place. And you fucking _miss_ him despite the fact that you’re fairly sure you still hate him a little bit.

You think you want him to come rescue you.

You also realize when they start tearing away at you down there, that you absolutely don’t want some horrible green or blue to touch you, you want your yellow-blooded hacker spritemate to touch you there instead.

Well, isn’t that a revelation. What a fucking wonderful time to realize you’ve got flushed feelings for the troll you used to hate. Your mind actually laughs at you sarcastically at that. What the hell would he want you for anyway? You can’t fucking see, your fins are torn, you’re sure you look horrendous. It doesn’t really matter though because you’re sure you’re going to die and you try to push all thoughts of Sol aside.

It doesn’t stop you from going back to wondering if he’ll miss you once you’re gone. Even just think about you every once and a while. Would he do that?

.

The hands are the last to go. You’re barely conscious, each breath drawn in a wet agonizing drag - you’re pretty sure you have a couple broken ribs. You half-listen as they discuss among themselves what to do with you now. All of their plans are horrible and range from dropping you off a cliff, to feeding you to that cat lusus, to tying you to the tops of the trees and letting the birds peck away at your corpse.

They decide on dumping your body on the beach while you’re still alive and hoping you get eaten by something terrible before you die. The beach is close to where your victims died after all, the location is symbolic. Then one of them brings up your hands and the fact that you can still free yourself. Another suggests that they cut them off so you can’t use them even if you wanted to.

You didn’t think much could make your blood run chill after being brutally beaten, having all your fins torn, ribs cracked, foot/ankle broken and having had your eyes gorged out, but that does. Amazing, that.

You whimper softly and try to draw your hands closer to you. It doesn’t even make sense to cut off your hands, you can’t see a damn thing even if you did get free. You suggest they tie your arms behind your back instead. You tell them they’re crazy and that you’ll die from the blood loss and not be able to suffer the long agonizing death they wish on you. Hell, breaking your fingers would work just as well.

Everything you say falls on deaf ears.

You start crying from your empty eye sockets, which ramps up into outright begging as they tighten the rope around your wrists and arms to cut the blood flow. You don’t care anymore, you’re past caring, there is no dignity left to have. You scream and sob as they start to hack away and thankfully pass the fuck out before they’re done.

.

You’re not sure how he found you.

Maybe you were gone too long, you lost track of time in the midst of all that agony. Either way it feels like you’ve been lying on the beach for fucking ever when you hear Karkat shouting.

Cod, he’s annoying.

You’ve been trying to die for what feels like days. Your body is taking it’s sweetass time but right now you want nothing more but for the pain to stop. You’re not getting out of this easily, you realize that when Terezi starts asking you questions. And untying you, which makes the pain intensify, if that’s even possible. Your mind is just one expletive after another, and with a constant buzzing undercurrent of pain. When Kar comes back and touches you, (which you absolutely do not want), and asks if you want him to kill you, you think he’s an idiot for even asking. Yes, a sickle to the throat sounds great, thank you, seeing as you appear to be quite unable to die yourself.

The blow never comes, nor the welcome bliss of unconsciousness and death. Instead you hear, past the roaring in your ears, a third troll approach. And speak. And, ohfuck, it’s Sol.

He touches you on the face and suddenly everything stops. The noise, even the pain recedes… at least until your lungs rebel and you end up spitting up water and probably blood all over him.

He doesn’t go away and after a bit you can feel yourself being moved. Now you’re fairly sure you’re being held up by his power because the weight of your own body is no longer crushing down on your injured ribs. You listen, half conscious, as they debate where to take you and you are too far gone to even care when they decide on Gamzee of all the fucking trolls.

You’re determined though, he wants you to stay alive, for little while at least. You’re not sure why and you’ll analyze the reasons later but right now you’re going to do your damnedest to hang on for him.

.

It’s hard.

Being tortured was agony, being fixed in some ways is even worse. You get scrubbed, which hurts everything and you’re a sobbing mess by the end of it, tired and floating in and out of consciousness, which brightens to sharp pin points of pain as you crest before plunging back down into semi-awareness. During your lucid periods you cry and beg for Sol, you know he’s around. He comes to you, pressing a hand to the side of your face, which calms you instantly. If he’s touching you it’s easier to endure this, and you don’t even know why. He’s not even gentle, really, brushing the tears from your face with rough thumbs and muttering at you in his familiar condescending lisp. But he’s Sol and you want him there.

You hear Kar at periods as well, the other troll can never not be loud and ranty and the clown actually has to leave to console him at one point after he is done cracking bones back into place in your foot. That leaves you alone with Sol. You think you beg him to just end your life so you don’t have to endure this agony any longer, but you’re not sure. He doesn’t do it of course. Even asking them to at least knock you out doesn’t work, apparently they need you conscious to make sure you keep breathing, which admittedly is still almost as painful as getting scrubbed.

The clown finally comes back and presses sopor into your mouth, but you’re still lucid enough that everything still hurts as he begins sewing your flesh back together. Finally he has Sollux pin you down with his power when he gets to your arm stumps and has to, oh god, grind them down further to have enough skin to sew things back up. Sol grumbles, he doesn’t like it either but when he leaves your side you have a minor panic attack. You can’t see, you can’t move and you don’t want to be alone with Gamzee. He comes right back and presses his hand to your face again and tells you to stop whining. You tell him he would be whining too if a psychotic clown was currently hacking off part of his arms and he scoffs. He pisses you off so much and yet he’s so fucking distracting you can forget for a few short seconds what the hell is happening to the rest of you.

You’re a bit ashamed when you start screaming again, but whatever, he’d be screaming too if he was losing parts of his body.

He doesn’t leave you.

You finally, _finally_ pass out, thankfully, and hours too late. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sollux point of view.

Gamzee does a good job at his patchwork, you have to give him that. The troll is nothing but beyond calm while sewing Eridan up, even humming to himself and smiling as he works away on the seatroll’s body. The work is unexpectedly exceptional, the stitching is fine… and multicolored. Bones are set with ease, his ribs bound. You have to hold Eridan down with your power during the part with the arms, which makes you shudder, and Eridan’s screams are probably going to haunt your lack of sleep for a while. You are used to that shit however, even though it’s been a couple sweeps since you have had the voices in your head. It’s a relief when he finally passes out in your arms.

Finally the seatroll is bundled up like a wiggler in its first molting cocoon and Gamzee declares himself “motherfucking done” and looks proud of himself. Eridan remains unconscious and breathing.

You and Karkat debate briefly what to do with him next, but it’s fairly obvious he’s going to end up at your hive. You’re the one who decided to save him after all. Karkat looks too tired to argue anyway.

Gamzee tells you to take care of his sea-bro when you leave, and even he manages to look concerned. Maybe Karkat is right, maybe the highblood is all better and no longer a murderous asshole.

You don’t want to stick around and find out. 

.

He remains unconscious for much of the next day and a half. You set him down in the center of your floor, towels placed under him. He drifts more than anything, and his breathing is less laborious, but only by a bit… enough to show improvement and give you hope that he’ll wake up again. On the other hand he’s running a fever, his clammy skin now a bit warmer than usual and still a lot cooler than yours is, but you can tell the difference. Cue the constant changing of ice cold cloths across his forehead and forcing him to drink water while he’s still mostly unconscious.

Karkat shows up the next night looking like he hasn’t slept in two nights to help with changing of the towels and bandages and you remark, exasperated, that you may as well dump him in the ablution trap seeing as he’s a fucking fish anyway. You don’t of course, but you keep it up with the cold cloths and changing of towels. The strain on Karkat’s face is easy to see, but even for all his bitching and complaining he doesn’t say he wants to be somewhere else.

You realize that Karkat might have been his only friend. This is supported by the fact that he corners you in your kitchen to interrogate you on what you intend to do next with him, if, of course his fever breaks and he wakes up.

“Look, I know you might have good intentions, at least I fucking hope you do, but he’s not going to be able to do much of anything once he wakes up. He’s going to be helpless as a wriggler, and as blind as you were on the meteor, and he won’t have his hands to guide him...”

“KK, I know…” you try to interrupt. Unsuccessfully. Karkat plows on. 

“Do you have any idea how much it’s going to humiliate him to have to depend on someone to do something as simple as use the load gapper? I mean fuck. If this is just some way to get revenge it’s a really fucking low way to go about it.”

“Oh my god, give me a little bit of fucking credit,” you retort. “I’m not going to rub his nose in it.”

Karkat frowns. “I just don’t want… look, I know he’s an irreprehensible douche, but I think he’s been through enough. I just don’t want him to suffer anymore,” he starts gnawing his lip. “He’s proud and he’s got issues and this is going to be really _really_ fucking hard on him...”

“KK I _know_ all this,” you reply and now you really can’t keep the irritation out of your voice. You turn on him and glare, your bi-colored eyes flashing. You see Karkat take a defensive step back and calm down the fireworks. “Look,” you say, spreading your hands wide. “If he can make it through the next week or so I’ll talk to Equius and see if he can help make him a new pair of hands. He owes me a couple favors anyway.”

Karkat gives you a surprised look, like he’s stunned you even considered it. You roll your eyes. 

“He’ll be on his own with the eyesight,” you continue. “But I think he’ll get the hang of it eventually. If he doesn’t, well,” you shrug. “It gives him a chance at least, better than just culling him on the beach.”

Karkat flinches slightly, then gives you a curious look. “Why do you even care?” he asks finally.

You give him a half grin. “Hell if I know,” you reply. “I was stuck in the same body as that asshole for a while. Maybe I got attached?”

You’re studied for a while longer and finally Karkat throws his hands in the air. “Fine whatever,” he says. You follow him as he walks back into your other room. He stops and studies Eridan’s sleeping face for a minute or so. With his eyelids closed and arm stumps bundled up in blankets he looks almost normal – the small stitching on his earfins is barely noticeable. He’s let the purple streak grow out over the sweeps, and only black remains. Without styling his black hair falls in gentle waves around his face. That coupled with the lack of glasses makes him look younger than he is. He won’t need those glasses any longer you realize and for some unknown reason that makes you feel a bit sad. Then you think that he’ll probably wear them anyway and the feeling is quickly replaced by exasperation.

“Okay, fuck,” Karkat runs a hand over his face and yeah he looks haggard. “I’m going back to my hive.  Message me if you need me.”

“Get out of here KK,” you return mildly. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he turns and leaves, but not before giving you another meaningful look you ignore completely.

.

“Sol?” Eridan’s voice is weak, a barely noticeable warble. There is a pause and he calls out to you again.

You hit save and get up from your computer, padding into the other room with a yawn. You’ve been awake most of the day and all of last night as well… hell you’ve probably gotten less sleep than Karkat and that’s saying something.

His ear fin twitches as you approach. His eyes are open, or rather his eyelids are lifted and exactly nothing stares back at you. You shudder a bit and reflect that maybe you should just have Equius or Gamzee sew them up. That depends on if he even makes it that far and you’re well aware that you still have a ways to go. Being awake is a good sign.

He’s moving about… well, twitching more like, and he looks worried. “Sol?” he asks again, and you kneel next to him.

“Shoosh,” you say, and touch his cheek. He calms down instantly, which is something he’s been doing since you first found him dying on the beach. You’re aware he’s reacting instinctively as if you’re his moirail or matesprit, even though you’re not either. You figure it’s an after effect of once being combined. It’s also another reason why he’s here and not with Karkat or Gamzee or anyone else, trolls usually don’t like being vulnerable around other trolls. You saw how he reacted to the Karkat’s touch when you first found him, he might accept Karkat’s help, but there is just as likely a chance he’d freak the fuck out. 

You just touch his cheek then move your hand around past his healing fin, fingers sliding into his hair. His eyelids fall half closed and you suspect he’s one step away from purring. Karkat would be staring at you in absolute horror right now if he saw this and you smirk a bit at the thought.

“How long?” he asks, and his voice is weary, raspy and dry. “How long was I out?”

You pull away and sit back. “Nearly two days,” you reply.

He seems to consider that and nods. “Water,” he says finally. “Could you…?”

“Yeah,” you reply and get to your feet. You make your way into the kitchen and return with a glass. This presents a bit of a dilemma and you put it down in order to try to pull him up into a sitting position.

That hurts him. He hisses through his broken teeth and you stop abruptly, then raise a hand and bring him up with your powers instead. That hurts him considerably less, though you can see the faint alarm on his face as he is moved into the air.

He’ll have to live with it for now. You raise your other hand and manipulate the glass through the air towards him, pressing it against his lips, then reach out to steady it. He gets the hang of it pretty damn fast. The glass is soon empty and placed aside and he twitches. You let him down slowly and he lets out a small sigh of relief when you release him again.

You sit beside him silently for a bit, then pick up the glass and get to your feet.

.

You go into the kitchen and prepare him a soup.

When you get back to him you use your powers again to move him into a sitting up position, then get the spoon. He lets you feed him silently. When he is done his eyes are already closed and you can see the strained exhaustion on his face. You lower him once again.

He is out cold again within seconds.

.

The next day goes much like the last. He wakes up long enough for you to silently feed him. He might be too tired to put up any sort of fight, but his overwhelming silence is a bit disconcerting.

Even when you take him to the load gapper later on that day it isn’t an ordeal. You put him down, leave and come back again for him a few minutes later and he lets you change his bandages and clean and redress him without a word of protest. You’re so busy rebinding his torso you completely miss the fresh tracks of tears on his face, at least at first.

When you do notice them you are determined to tactfully ignore them. That doesn’t last very long. As you lay him back down on his towels you reach towards his face, thumbing the tears from his cheeks. “Shh,” you say as you lean forwards and kiss him gently. “You’re doing very well.” 

He manages the smallest nod. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then seems to think better of it and shuts it again. He lets his eyelids close, and within moments he is asleep again. 

.

Two days later most of the bandages have come off, except for the more permanent ones around his stumps and ankle. He’s moving on his own now, sort of, sitting up at very least. You decide to put him in the recuperacoon to give him a good night’s sleep for once.

He is completely silent as you take off the large swaths of cloth that cover his chest and legs, folding the fabric and putting it aside. You do this once a day anyway to check out the sewed patchwork of his skin, wary of infection, you’re just doing it for a second time today. When you go back to pick him up he is still for a moment, as if trying to figure out what you are doing, then shivers in your arms and curls closer to you.

He’s so passive now, it worries you a bit. Even when Gamzee was operating on him he was much feistier than this. He brings his arms up, trying to hold you without hands and nudges closer, his crooked and now chipped horns sliding under your chin.

You make a face, hesitate, then sigh and let him hug you as best as he can. His mouth curves upwards into a smile and he leans in close, and you think he’s aiming for your face, but instead his lips land against your throat. You pull away, just a bit, but don’t stop holding him. 

You freeze at his next words. “You can take me if you want, you know,” he says, calmly, his voice raspy from disuse. “I think I’m healed enough now.”

“What?!” You’re absolutely stunned, so much so that you drop him and … _oh fuck_ that must have hurt. Damn it. You kneel down instantly, checking him over for ripped stitches.

“Where the hell did that come from?” you demand to know as you turn him over with rough hands.

He freezes as you push him onto his front, and you can see and feel that he is shaking as he lies there and tries to catch his breath. “Nothing, it’s nothing, nevermind,” he gasps out.  

“Why would you even say that?” you reply, and you can’t keep the disgust out of your voice. Well, at least he looks okay, nothing is torn, thank god.

He _cringes_. “I just thought… because of… I, i-if you wanted to,” he’s stammering now.

You groan, then pull away from him and put your hands over your face. Fuck you should have known this’d be one of the complications of keeping him alive.

“Sol?” he asks, his voice a nervous waver.

“I’m not going to just pail you over the side of the couch ED, gross,” you reply, your voice muffled by your hands.

He is still for a long moment, and seems to consider that. “I thought, because of the kissing an’ the touchin’…” he says quietly, and there is a pitiful note to his voice. He looks utterly confused and a little bit hurt and you resist the urge to pull out your hair. Right, by petting his face to calm him down and kissing his tears away… ARGH.

This is your fault too, you knew you were treating him like a moirail or matesprit, but that was because there wasn’t anyone else around to do the job!

“That wasn’t why I kissed you!” you exclaim. God, you were stuck in each other’s heads, you thought at least some of your general apathy towards quadrants and furthermore some of your lack of utter desperation to get pailed would have worn off on him. “I’m trying to make sure you live, that’s all I’m fucking doing, and it’s easier to do that when you’re not freaking the fuck out.”

He sits and seems to consider that. His shoulders hunch and finally he turns away from you, curling into a tight little ball that probably hurts his ribs.

You decide not to put him in the recuperacoon, because that would involve picking him up again, whether with your arms or your powers. Instead you float blankets over to him and cover him up before retreating to your computer. 

.

Programming always does an excellent job of keeping your mind busy. You don’t realize how much time has passed until you look up again and it is halfway into the next day.

Shit, he must be hungry.

You unplug and get up with a groan, moving reluctantly into the other room. He’s moved about in the mean time, half of your things are knocked over and he’s lying on your couch now, bare as the day he hatched, except for the bandages around his arms and ankle, which managed to survive his wanderings. You’re fairly impressed he managed to get all the way across the room with no eyesight and one working limb. 

Neither one of you say anything as you go into the kitchen and prepare him some fish that has mysteriously appeared in your fridge. Karkat must have brought it over. You wrinkle your nose. When you get back you pull him into a sitting position and then break off a piece to feed to him.

He actually moves his head away when you try to bring it to his mouth.

“What the fuck?” you say.

He glares at you, or at least you’re pretty sure he’d be glaring at you if he still had eyes. “Why didn’t you just let him cull me?” he asks.

“ED, eat,” you snap. You take his chin, moving it towards yourself, and grasp the fish in the other. 

“No. Fuck you,” he replies, recoiling from your touch.

“Stop being such a whiny little nookstain,” you chastise, irritated. “You have to eat.”

He’s hyperventilating now. “Is this why?” he asks, his voice going high, almost shrill. “You find it fun to humiliate me, is that it? Well, fuck you Sol.”

“Oh my god, listen to you,” you return. “I’m the only one here dumbass, and I don’t give a shit, I really don’t.”

“THEN WHY DID YOU SAVE ME?!” he roars. His voice is raw.

You let out a growl and he barely flinches despite being at a disadvantage in all ways, still all righteous indignation. You put down the food and drag in a deep breath. You are thisclose to punching him. Instead you uncurl your fist and reach out, pressing a hand to the side of his face.

“No,” he shoves you off with his arm. “Stop fucking teasin’ me,” he adds. He shoves you more, then swings off the couch. That just lands him on his knees. He flails a little, falls forwards and now he literally looks like a fish out of water. He tries to get up, fails, tries again, fails, but he did gain a few feet on that last one. Finally he stops and lies there, breathing hard.

“Are you done?” you ask.  

He sucks in a deep breath from between his remaining teeth, then does it again. “I don’t understand,” he replies finally, plaintively, and you realize he really doesn’t. “Why are you doing this to me?”

The corner of your lip curves up. “You just did that to yourself,” you point out.

“You know what I meant,” he snaps back.

You roll your eyes. “I want you to recover and have your life back, pathetic as it was,” you say, exasperated.

He struggles into a sitting position. “What a stupid thing a you to say,” he replies. He hunches in on himself. “That’s obviously not gonna happen. I can’t see a damn thing, an’ I can’t feel anything without these,” he holds up his arm stumps. He turns his head towards you. “I knew my life was o’er the moment they started hackin’ away at me, it was just a matter of time. What happens when the drones come, Sol? No one wants half a troll. I’m sorry to say you’re just delayin’ the inevitable,” he makes an obscene gesture with his arm.  

“Oh shut up,” you grouch at him. He flinches but doesn’t move. “Did you forget FF is in charge now? She’s not going to let you get culled for being _disabled_ , you’ve heard her proclamations.”

“Oh, right, put my life in the hands of the troll I killed. I’m sure everythin’ is forgiven now.”

You elect to ignore that. “We’ll get EQ to get you a new pair of hands. TZ learnt how to fight without her sight, I’m sure you can figure your way around a hive. You’ll be fine.” 

“Fine? _FINE_? How can you say that?” he replies and his voice really is shrill now. “How can you possibly say I’ll be _fine_ after everythin’ I’ve been through?!” he’s angry now, struggling to rise to his feet again.

You raise your voice as well. “You _will_ be fine if you just let yourself recover! It’s been all of five days ED, SIT DOWN!”

He sits, his back to you, and he doesn’t say anything else.

As you watch his shoulders start to shake, and you realize he is crying.

Well, that’s pretty damn pitiful. You draw a deep breath and shake your head no. No, no, no, you’re not going to find this douchebag pitiful in any way, shape, or form…

… it hits you that you wouldn’t have even bothered working this hard to save him if you didn’t at least have some sort of feelings for him. Not only that, you really can’t continue to explain it away as an after effect of being combined with him, when right now you just want to go over and wipe away his tears and kiss him… more than once.

You stare at him.

Well, fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eridan point of view.

While Gamzee was sewing you up it all seemed so simple. He calmed you down, kept you alive, touched you, fed you, and took care of you, it was fairly damn flushed. You accepted that, wanted it even, you didn’t fantasize of him rescuing you for nothing. But no, that wasn’t it, he turned you down fairly solidly, and then he said he just wanted you to live so you can have your life back, which was and is bullshit.

Your life is over and you know it. He knows it too, you’re sure. Even with the use of your hands back, you will always be at a disadvantage. You can’t hunt any longer, or fight. You won’t be able to go back to your hive, you’ll be even more of a target then you were when you were captured the first time. You’re a sweep away from maturity, Fef’s brand new empire will require your services, you’re not going to allow yourself to be shuffled off into some job designed especially for disabled trolls.

No, that’s not going to happen, you won’t let it.

For now Sol owns you and you don’t know what he wants from you. Not really. A pet, maybe.

His pet royal blooded seatroll he’s keeping around for unknown reasons. Probably nostalgia. You unwillingly shared your entire life history with him once, stuck in that same blasted body, maybe he still feels attached. Platonically attached.

You don’t think it’ll last very long.  This is his hive, his home, his rules. Once you have your hands back and he gets bored of you you’ll be out on your ass, you have no doubt of that.

It won’t be long until you’re culled. You don’t think Fef has had a chance to disable the drones yet, and you have none of your quadrants filled, haven’t since you lost Vriska as your kismesis and Fef as your moirail and everyone’s ignored you since you got brought back. Except for Kar, who’d be a potential moirail you suppose, but you’re fairly sure he’s pale for pretty much fucking everyone and the clown would have your guts if you made a move.

Again, who the fuck would want a blind seatroll for anyway? If someone else doesn’t cull you, you’ll finish the job yourself when the time comes, save yourself the humiliation of dying at the hands of a drone.

So now life is a waiting game, and you’re waiting to die.

Joy. 

.

Everything is dull and simple since your outburst. You just let him pick you up, move you around, feed you, bathe you. You don’t react when he touches you in any way, and he doesn’t try to touch you on the face again, except for fleeting ones when he needs you to turn your head. You don’t speak to him even when he asks questions, something that you can tell frustrates the hell out of him. You do open your mouth when he presses food into it because not letting him feed you means he’ll be around longer. 

He starts to help you in the quickest, most utilitarian, and efficient ways he possibly can. When he can, he moves you without even touching you. You’re getting rapidly used to the feeling of all your muscles seizing into motionlessness and then being moved through the air. It no longer alarms you at all.

.

Days pass. You’re feeling better, you think your foot can take weight again soon. You really don’t care very much.

Kar comes to visit. He tries. He really does. He screams at you and demand to know if you even want to get better. You shrug and ignore him almost as much as you ignore Sol, offering him one word answers. You’re fine, fuck off. He leaves in a huff and goes off to talk to Sol in his room with the door closed and their voices muffled. You don’t hear the words but you hear the rise and fall of the tone of their voices… Kar’s upset, what else is fucking new, and Sol is not. His voice remains low and level. Eventually whatever Sol is saying must have won, because Kar calms down as well.

They continue to talk for some time. You doze, because that is pretty much the only thing you can do anyway. When you come to again Kar is gone and you try not to feel like you’re lonely.

.

That night Sol strips you down completely, silently, and you find yourself moving through the air for a far longer trip than usual. You start, surprised when the cool sensation of sopor slides over your entire body.

Oh. Recuperacoon.

You listen as he moves about his room. You’re getting better at this despite yourself, by hearing alone you can generally figure out how large the room is, by smell you know where he is, where his wardrobe is, his computer… his beehives. You’re grateful his bees stick his room and don’t buzz all over the house.

A few minutes later he walks across the room towards you and slides into sopor beside you. You reach out with your good foot and nudge your toes against a wall. You frown, puzzled, before you remember, he has two sections to his recuperacroon. You’re in half of it.

He sighs, like he is trying to relax and not having much success. “Go to sleep,” he says.

You frown but close your eyelids anyway. It’s nice to sleep normally again, you’re not sure you could refuse if you wanted to.

.

When you wake up again he’s gone. You consider going back to sleep again.

You’re also hungry, so falling back to sleep is hard. You finally give up trying to sleep and consider your options.

You could just wait until he comes back to get you. You actually do that, for what feels like at least an hour, then finally give up. 

So now you have a problem… getting out.

You set your jaw and brace your good foot against the side of the recuperacoon. You wedge your knee of your other leg against the other side. You do the same with your elbows. Soon you’re able to hook both arms over the top and a couple yanks later you’re balancing on the edge by your waist.

It is there that you realized you didn’t think this through very well. You can’t grip the edge and… ohshit.

You end up going over face first and landing in a wet heap on the floor and FUCK that hurt. You’re still sucking air through the remains of your teeth when he comes running.

“What the hell,” he mutters as he walks towards you. “Your voice does work, you know,” he adds as he stops somewhere in front of you. You painfully push yourself into a sitting position. “You could have just asked for help.”

You don’t reply. Your ribs are currently re-reminding you that they were cracked or broken a little over a week ago, and you might have rebroke something. You wheeze, and try to push back the rolling pain. 

“Are you okay?” He sounds concerned and he reaches out for you. You know because a hand slides against your face a moment later.

Oh fuck no. He was doing so well not touching you like that. You recoil from him and hiss.

He doesn’t get the hint and tries to touch you again anyway, this time with his other hand and your other cheek. You bite at him.

Not knowing where he is doesn’t help you dodge very well. He slaps you. Hard.

You’re momentarily stunned as your entire body twists with the blow… you hadn’t expected that, or rather you let your guard down based on the fact he hadn’t attacked you yet. That was stupid a you. A second later his hand catches in your hair and he yanks you up by it.

“Listen to me,” he growls, and you can feel the faint flicker of energy around him. Oh fuck, he’s pissed. “LISTEN TO ME. If you need help, ask for it, I didn’t save you so that you can just rehurt yourself because you’re too fucking stubborn to ask for help,” he drops you back on the ground.

“Fuck you,” you snap back at him with just as much fury. “If you kept me alive just to be your _pet_ you can bloody well go fuck yourself. I’m not gonna take orders from you. I’ll never take orders from the likes a you.”

There is silence in the room. “What?” he replies, sounding incredulous when he finds his voice again. “Oh my god, I want you to not INJURE yourself! You’re not a fucking pet, where did you even get that idea?”

“Well, why else would you keep me about?” you return. You let out a sarcastic little laugh. “Why would lowblood trash like you keep a useless seadweller alive when he shoulda been culled a week ago, tell me that. You can teach me to do tricks, maybe.”

“I’m not going to…” now he sounds appalled. “ED, where the hell is this even coming from?”

“I’m useless! In case you hadn’ta noticed!”  you start to laugh, and it’s a broken wretched sound. You laugh and laugh and laugh and you feel him start to power up some before you finally stop and gasp for air. “I did everythin’ right this time,” you say, and suddenly it’s like everything wants to come out, pouring from your mouth like bile. “I learnt how to be alone, like a fucking proper sea troll, I hunt by myself an everythin’. But now I can’t, can’t even do that anymore and I’m so _fucking_ lonely,” you can barely breath any more.

“Oh for fucks sake,” you hear him mutter.

“Cull me,” the words come out unexpected and brutally honest. You’re momentarily speechless before you’re able to say it again. “ _Cull me_.”

You hear him take a step towards you and then a hand falls on your arm. “ED…”

You jerk it away from him.

“Don’t you dare Sol, don’t you fucking dare try to console me you piss-blooded freak, get the fuck away from me,” you snarl. “If you’re not going to do it, _I will_ ,” You try to get up, but you do it too hastily and crash back down. Things are hurting now, badly, but you barely notice. You get to your feet anyway, take a couple of steps. Your foot screams in agony and you ignore it.

You do notice when your entire body seizes up. An invisible force grabs you and tosses you to the ground.

Now you’re on your back, limbs stretched out. You struggle to move, but you can’t, he has you frozen solid.

Your world goes completely blank, silent. You can’t even tell where he is, maybe a few feet to your left. Everything slows down into utter stillness. You can focus on everything now, your breathing, the fact that you hurt all over. It’s not from him, he’s not tearing into you, just keeping you still. You can still blink over empty eye sockets and you do so out of reflex.

“Do you _want me_ to cull you?” he asks, his voice a low quiet hiss and yes, he’s by your side.

It’s not a threat, it’s a question and there it is, hanging right in front of you. He’s offerin’ what you wanted. The death you expected a week ago, the same one that hangs in your future.

You blink and feel warmth slide down the sides of your face. “Sol,” you whisper. Your hands twitch but you can’t move them, not because he has them pinned down but because they’re not there anymore. You swallow. 

“Do you want me to cull you?” he repeats the question. His voice is a little cold. Your limbs tingle but he’s not putting any force down on them, waiting for your answer.

You swallow again. You’re aware of the pathetic sight you must make, you’re mutilated, naked, covered in sopor and your former flushcrush/blackcrush/bodymate is offering to end your existence once and for all, at your own request. More warmth leaks down the side of your face, and you shut your eyelids, hoping against hope to stem the flow. It doesn’t. You open them again, stare at nothing and nod once.

“Yes,” you reply. 

You hear a snapping sound, and darkness races to overtake your mind. The last thing you think before going under, besides surprise, is that at least he made it quick. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sollux point of view.

You don’t have a lot of time. Usually you can knock out small creatures like your bees but you don’t have a lot of practice on anything larger. You log on to let KK know what’s happened. He lets out a string of insults and bemoans what a terrible troll he is that he can’t simply make ED better by yelling at him.

Like lack of a will to live is something that can just be threatened out of someone. If it could, this would have never happened.

He asks you if this is what you want, since you’ve never been very keen on being close to other trolls. You’ve had a good couple of days to think about it and yeah, you’re surprisingly okay with your decision.

God help you, if this works you’re condemning yourself to possibly living in close proximity with the asshole… permanently.

Then again you spent a quarter of a sweep in the same body as him, so maybe it won’t be so bad. You tell KK you’ll let him know how it goes and log off again. 

.

Equius attaches the hands with minimal amounts of sweating, for which you are grateful. He’s gotten better over the sweeps. You watch as he frowns pensively over his sleeping face, and reassure him he really is just asleep. You don’t mention that you’re keeping him artificially under, and that it’s a struggle to keep him that way.

He almost wakes up twice during the operation.

You thank Equius sincerely once he’s done. The metal hands and wrists look excellent and blend seamlessly into his skin where it connects. You ask if he’ll be able to feel anything with them and the mechanic nods. “Please bring the highblood back if he encounters any trouble,” he says politely. “I must insist.” 

You tell him you will.

.

That was several hours ago. You sit on the edge of the small cliff, overlooking the sea, and he’s wrapped up in your arms. You can see his hive from here. You’ve already gone there, to dress him in his old clothes. His lusus has already left, probably around the same time yours was clamoring to be freed a sweep or so ago. You feel a pang of sadness while walking the empty halls of his ship. He really was alone. When you were combined he thought he was alone, but he really wasn’t. Until the game he still had Feferi and Kanaya and several other trolls who’d at least talk to him. Now you see he’s spent the last couple sweeps in near complete isolation, with one certain grouchy troll as his only friend. 

He handled it well you think. … Considering how he handled it before, that is.

You can’t help but feel a tiny bit guilty. You knew the other trolls were avoiding him, you didn’t blame them, and you had your own reasons for keeping your distance… namely you dislike being around others and seeing him reminds you of things you’d rather forget. There is also that awkward familiarity that he never mentioned but you both know you have… he knows how many bulges you have, for example, and it’s not like you ever told him.

Maybe you should have made a bigger effort. Obviously he felt more attached than you did. At least, you’re banking on that, because otherwise this might not work at all.

You nestle your chin between his horns and tighten your grip slightly before relaxing and letting go. You lay him out beside you on the grass.

He’s still unconscious, but it’ll be any moment now.

You wait. You’ve become much more patient over the last couple sweeps. It helps when voices aren’t screaming at you in your head all the time.

You don’t have to wait long. He stirs, slowly, and moans softly. His eyelids flick open and that’s when you know he’s with you again.

“Hi,” you greet. He blinks, then sniffs, his brow furrowing.

“I’m not… dead.” he says.

You shake your head. “No.”

“I’m by the sea,” he adds.

“Yes.”

He struggles to sit up and manages it fairly easily as he plants his hands on the ground to support himself. That surprises him. You watch as he lifts one hand and holds it in front of him. Each finger wiggles in turn. He makes a surprised sound and raises the other hand and does the same thing. “You got me new hands,” he says unnecessarily.

You raise a hand and catch his new one in your own. You bring the hand up and press it to the side of your face, which you instantly regret. It’s _cold_. His fingers twitch and he moves that hand up, running it along the side of your jaw.

“How does it feel?” you ask.

“Like yer face,” he replies snarkily, then relaxes. “It’s not the same,” he admits in a calmer voice. “It’s more like pressure, I guess,” his fingers dig into your face _hard_ and you let out a small exclamation of surprise. He jerks the hand away quickly. “Sorry,” he says and sounds genuinely contrite. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, did I hurt you?”

“No,” you reply, though you’re fairly sure you’ll have four finger tip shaped marks on your face tomorrow morning. “Okay, maybe not quite that hard,” you add ruefully.

He swallows and nods. He goes back to playing with his hands, clenching and unclenching them, then begins to feel up his arms. He pauses and touches the material of his shirt, then brings it up to his neck and his scarf. He feels along his neck and then behind, to the cowl of his cape. “I’m in my old clothes,” he says.

“I thought you’d like a proper send off,” you say. It’s better than letting him die naked on the floor of your respiteblock.

The despair on his face is palpable, and that gives you hope. You watch him as he stares at his lap, and runs his new hands along  his pants for a moment before nodding.  

“Unless you don’t want to be culled,” you add carefully.

He turns his head towards you, but now he just looks tired.

“Sol...” he begins. “I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do an’ all, but it’s not gonna change anythin’,” he sounds very serious.  

Shit.

“Fine,” You bite back at him. “But if I have to cull you, can we at least do it somewhere else?”

He looks puzzled. “Where?” he asks.

“Your hive,” you say. “It’s right over there,” you add.

He turns his head, unseeing eyes peering off over the sea. “You brought me home,” he says, and sounds amazed.

You nod. “I’ll take you over,” you say.

He hesitates, then nods slowly. You reach down and give him a hand up. You bound his foot back up solidly, but he’s still favoring it heavily. You let him try to stand for a moment, then gather him up in your arms. He lets you without comment.

You fly slowly out to the rocky shoal that contains his shiphive, there is no point in rushing anything.  

You land on the bow of the ship and put him down again near the entrance, picking up one of his new hands and placing it against the wood. He gets it quickly and feels his way inside.

You make to put one of his arms around your shoulders to support him, but he pushes you back and instead elects to limp heavily while using the wall for support.

That is fine with you. You trail him as he makes his way through the ship. He touches everything. Old statues, cabinets, crates and boxes. Stacks of coins that have no value. He finally enters his respiteblock and drags his robo-hand over the top of his husktop, old flarping books that at one point laid in a mess all over his floor and now are stacked in a neat dusty corner. He pauses and turns back to you and looks a little lost.

“We should go to the kitchen,” you suggest. “Humans like to eat a good meal before they die, or so KK said, who the hell knows if it’s true. It’s not like I really talked to any of those assholes,” you draw in a deep breath. “I got something for you anyway.”

“That is dismally morbid a you. Both a you,” he mutters, but he follows you out of the room.

This you prepared ahead of time too. It only takes a small flare of your psionics to warm up food, fish and grubloaf with rare sauces that Karkat stuck in your fridge. You set it in front of him. You put utensils in front of him too and then pick up his hand and put it over them. He fumbles and gets the hang of using his hands and you are unduly proud of him.

He eats silently, his back straight, and with his old clothes and stupid cape on he looks every bit the noble prat he is supposed to be. You fold your arms across your chest and lean back against the counter.

He finishes soon enough and pushes the plate away from himself. He is silent for a long moment, and you have the feeling he is regrouping and sensing you out. Sure enough his head swings in your direction. “So now?” he asks. 

“Back to your respiteblock?” you suggest.

“There?” he asks and sounds surprised.

“You can show me your shitty wand collection,” you return quickly. You know from being combined with him he actually really valued that shitty wand collection, even before Kanaya made him one with enough power to knock _you_ out cold.  

A small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. For a moment you think he’s going to call you out on stalling, but instead he stands. “Fine,” he says.

You make your very slow limping way back to his respiteblock. He goes to a corner where large wardrobe that looks even more dusty and unused than his flarping books sits. He jerks the doors open and a great deal of wands come cascading down on top of him.

“Happy?” he asks as he stands in the center of them all.

You move closer to him. “You made a mess,” you comment.

He flushes, then clumsily tries to lean down to pick them up. Except without really being able to use one of his feet he tilts dangerously.

You move before he can react, arms grabbing him around the waist. In an utterly brilliant bout of maneuvering you wind up making it so both of you are sitting on the floor in the middle of the wand pile, and he’s practically in your lap. You fold the corner of his cape down so that you can rest your chin on his shoulder.

He sits against you stiffly for a moment and you think you’re going to have a fight on your hands. Instead he relaxes by degrees, slumping back against you, letting you hold him. His breathing evens out and a glance at his face tells you that his eyelids are closed.

You bring a hand up carefully and slowly as to not alarm him and touch his hair. When he doesn’t react to that you start to pet him. He still doesn’t jerk away but another glance at his face shows he is blushing.

He lets you touch him gently for several minutes before speaking up.

“I’m flushed for you,” he says quietly.

You pause then continue with the hair stroking. “Obviously,” you reply. That came out a little bit smug.

He draws in a shuddering breath. Another glance at his face shows that he’s crying again, silent tears leaking down the side of his face.

You kiss his cheek.

He lets out an odd choking laugh.

“I just figure I got nothin’ a lose by tellin’ you,” he says finally.

You make a non-committal sound.

“Always figured we’d be black back then before everythin’ happened. I hated you more than anyone I ever met for takin’ her,” he says quietly and you smile, slightly pained. Neither one of you have her now, but that is more your fault than anything, and hers… she’s a very busy princess.

“I was just pissed that I underestimated you,” you reply.

He lets out a small laugh. You kiss his neck and the laugh turns into a shiver.

You trail a hand down his chest and his breathing speeds up. You’re quiet for a long moment, hand pressed against his stomach. “Can I touch you?” you ask.

 His breathing catches and for a moment he honestly sounds like he’s going to hyperventilate. You freeze and he is silent so long you’re beginning to think he’s going to refuse.

“Sure” he says finally. “Sure why the fuck not?” there is a faint note of hysteria in his voice but then his head drops back against your shoulder and he goes completely limp.

You have an unfair advantage. You know exactly where to touch him, you know because he knows and this is one time when having been stuck in each other’s heads is really fucking convenient. Your hand slips easily into the hem of his usually impossibly tight pants… he’s lost weight. It takes little time at all for him to slip out, slick and heavy against the palm of your hand. 

You set up a gentle, slow rhythm that you know feels good but won’t bring him anywhere near completion.

He is soon wriggling in your lap, metal hands coming up and grasping your upper arms. His breathing has quickened. “More,” he groans and grinds back against you. You’re sure he can feel you. “More, _more_.”

You nip at his earfin and he gasps and jerks in your hands. “Are you sure?” you ask.

“Am I…” the expression on his face says he thinks you’re stupid. “I wouldn’t a said it if I wasn’t!”

You kiss his neck again and take back your hand in order to take off his cape, folding it and putting it aside. You start to tug on his shirt when he groans. “Oh god stop, let me do it, you’re taking too fuckin’ long,” sure enough he grasps the hem of his shirt and he pulls it off in one smooth motion. His newly healed fins snap free and he goes for his pants. You shift uncomfortably before getting up to strip yourself.

He’s done with his pants before you’re started on your own and he reaches out and tugs at them impatiently. You bat his hands away, (which kind of hurts because they’re made of metal), and he counters by kissing in the general direction of your face. You move forwards and meet his lips with your own and suddenly he is pushing you back. You tumble to the ground.

He’s on top of you now, squirming as he kisses your face and jaw, hands actively shoving your pants down. He reaches for one of your bulges and you catch his hand quickly. “Let me get that,” you say meaningfully and he pauses, then nods to show he understand. Instead he braces himself above you. You see a slight wince from him and use your power to support him, just a bit, to take the pressure off of his ribs. In the mean time his bulge has found one of yours and they’ve set up a rhythm sliding up and down against each other.

Your second budge probes the entrance to his nook. He is more than ready for you. You both let out a cry as you slip inside, his more keening than yours.

His bulge disengages from your spare and now it is probing away, trying to find your own nook, his forehead beaded with concentration. You spread your legs a little wider in encouragement and seconds later he gets it, and slides in.

The next bit doesn’t take a lot of effort, and there really isn’t any reason to move a lot, but he seems still determined to move as much as possible anyway, rocking against you. You school an exasperated sigh at his eager desperation, and grab him by the hips to still him. He gives you a confused look and you respond by twisting your bulge inside of him, which makes him gasp and shudder.

He gets the hang of it and you feel a very satisfying answering twist.

In little time at all he’s coming, you can feel it filling you up and holy shit he’s definitely approaching adulthood because there is a damn lot of it. The pressure against you sets you off as well, except one of your bulges is coating both his torso and yours instead of inside of him.

He looks shocked. “Did you just come on me?” he demands to know, and with much more vibrancy than anything else he’s said this evening.

“Well, mostly myself, actually,” you observe, glancing down between the both of you.

“That’s disgustin’,” he says, sounding appalled. “You’re disgustin’.” 

“Don’t lie, you loved it,” you reply with a lazy smile. “Yellow looks great on you, it compliments your skin tone,” you continue and run a hand though some of it to spread it higher on his chest. “That’s why you really want me, isn’t it? I look sooo good on you.” 

“What? That’s so fuckin’ _gross_ , why would you even say that,” you think he’s going to continue to be horrified but then he lets out a small snirk of laughter. Seconds later he is laughing for real, doubled over on top of you and now it’s getting absolutely everywhere.

“Right,” you reply when he’s slowed down some. The laughing must really be hurting his ribs and you lift him with your power and set him down beside you. “ED, where the hell do you keep your buckets?”

“Kitchen, far cupboard,” he replies while stifling his giggles and you go off in search of them, trying to ignore the overly full feeling in your abdomen. You find what you’re looking for, empty yourself quickly into one, jam it into his fridge and carry the second back to him. He’s on his back now, running lazy metal fingers over the soft bump on his abdomen. You’re sure if he had eyes there would be a faraway look in them. You walk back over to him and carefully set the pail down beside him.

“Sol,” he asks, turning his face in your direction.

“What?” you reply.

“What the hell is this?” he asks. He’s serious now, not a hint of laughter on his face.

“I thought that was obvious,” you say. You pull him into a crouch, supporting him so he doesn’t have to put pressure on his bad foot, and position the bucket under him. “I can pail you again if you’re not sure.”

He lets go with ease. The liquid is a murky brownish color and you push it away, settling back down so he can lay against you.

“You… don’t have a matesprit, do you?” he asks.

Right, like you were going to cheat on a matesprit. “Now I do,” you reply. “Well, until you want me to cull you.”

His brow knits as he seems to spend a good deal of time considering that.

“Do you have a kismesis?” he asks suddenly and you are surprised at the question. What you just did definitely wasn’t that, so he must mean other trolls.

You shake your head. “Fuck no,” you reply honestly. “I don’t care enough to get myself a kismesis. I’d get bored of them. You’re probably the closest I have,” you add. “Well, you and KK and fuck if I’m dealing with that headcase in a quadrant, what, are you nuts?”

He grins at that, then groans and presses a hand to his forehead. “You can’t possibly say I’m the only troll you’ve…” he trails off. “What about you and Fef?”

You shrug. “Broke up sweeps ago, you know that already.”

From the guilty look on his face you know he does. “Aradia?” he asks.

“Moirail,” you reply.

 “Kan?”

“Kanaya?” you repeat, incredulously. You barely talk to her, you’ve had all of two conversations since the game ended.

He shakes his head quickly. “I know, I know,” he says. He looks desperate now. “What happens if the drones come?” he asks.

You shrug. “I suppose I’d better go look for someone.”

His eyes widen. “You’re not taking this seriously at all!” he exclaims. “You’re going to get yourself culled!”

You shrug. “Maybe,” you say, and wait. It takes everything you have not to smirk, then you remember he can’t see you and all out grin.

He drags in a deep breath, and then another. A metal hand presses against the center of your chest. It’s really cold, but you don’t complain. You wait.

“You have a matesprit,” he says finally.

“Who wants me to cull him, because he’s a grubfucking bulgelicker and certified douchebag,” you reply. “Alas.”

He shakes his head slowly and then his shoulders slump and he gives you a despondent look. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he complains. “This entire thing has been a giant fucking ruse to get me to change my mind.”

“Is it working?” you return cheekily.

“You’re horrible,” he says. “Why couldn’t you a said somethin’ three days ago?” he sounds plaintive.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted three days ago, fuck,” you reply. “I had to think about it, okay?”

He is silent for a moment, but the vulnerable look on his face is endearing. He swallows. “I see,” he says. He lays back down slowly and positions himself so that his head is pressed to your collarbone.

You go back to petting his hair and running your hand along the side of his face. The way his body just goes slack is telling. You smile slightly. “Stay with me,” you say quietly. “Just for a little while.”

He shifts and lets out a low sound that is awfully close to a purr. “Yeah, yeah,” he replies. “At least until you get yourself a damn kismesis,” he adds, and lets out an exasperated sigh.

You let out a laugh and grin at the ceiling of his hive. “You’re my kismesis,” you reply.

“No, I’m your matesprit, get it straight,” he grumbles.

“Maybe you’re both and we’ll flip so much I’ll never be able to get another kismesis,” you say.

“We better not,” he replies and manages to sound somewhat indignant. “That sounds absolutely fuckin’ exhaustin’. I’m gonna have a hard enough time figuring out how to _walk_ without hittin’ walls, let alone fight off the likes a you.”

That sounds like victory to you. You laugh and kiss his stupid crooked horns.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ^^


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